


Salty Brine

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [61]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Implied Relationships, Return of Them Update, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23987704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: Wilson dragged Maxwell out to visit the newly found resident to the lunar islands, but not to make conversation and chit chat.The hermit is crabby, so its doing favors and planting berry bushes all day long instead.
Series: DS Extras [61]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

The glittering powder under his hands crumbled like a fine sand, too fine for just how solid and hard the earth actually was against his knees, and Maxwell finally hissed a sigh through a half snarled frown and leaned back, gloves absolutely covered in the stuff and work not even near half done.

"This is a waste of time."

"That is just what I said!" 

There was a pip of sound, bubbled low and chirping, and the frown on his face only dragged lower as Maxwell side eyed the hobbling old being that had come up behind him. Watery dripping mandibles twitched, curled and frothed up a few bubbles and salty spittle and brine, the twitching limbs and shifting slides of chitin and shell that curled and stretched in near random muscle movements, and the crabby old hermit blinked her bulging pale eyes at him and chittered a grumbly, dribbling sea water sound. 

"But your little friend, he does not listen to me! Neither of you do, oh no, so you scrape around in the dirt and waste your time, my time, everyone's time!" She gargled another sputter of frustration, spat salt water froth and drizzled the powdery ground underneath her with the mucus droplets, and did an odd little shudder that rocked her back and forth, irritation bulging her eyes and making her mandible mouthparts pulsate in a rather discerning way. "No trespassing, I said, and what did the lot of you do? Crawl your way all about my island, make such a racket and break my singing shells and chase away all the fish and-"

Her voice pitched, trembling fitfully in her stress and excitement and deep displeasure, old chitin body parts scraping together and a wad of bubbles and foam bursting from her mandibles as she chittered near hysterically. 

"-and dig all these holes on my island, in my island! What horrible pests, you lot, terribly impolite, criminal! And your short companion, troublesome and nosy, so nosy! How in the world do you ever put up with him!?"

While her antics were certainly not quite the company Maxwell himself would have liked to keep, the resounding "Hey, I can hear you!' coming up from over the sand hill was one of the few pros of even being dragged along for the ride. 

Slowly creaking his way into a stand, looming over the hunched crab and her chittering bubbles, Maxwell watched as the one who had made him sail all the way over here crested the top, tripping and sliding through the mixture of glittering powder and true seashell strewn sand, hands raised as if to try and protect his hair on his way down. Judging from the bits of bright color, dry seaweed, and coating streaks of sand, it was pretty obvious that Wilson has fallen at least a few times since the last Maxwell has seen him.

He'll offer to help pick the shells from the man's greasy hair later, hopefully by then far from this place and nearer to the main camp. Having this crab not so subtly spy on them as they explored the island didn't set him at ease whatsoever.

Wilson himself, however, seemed to be having a grand old time.

"And I'm just asking a few questions here and there, that's all! We've never seen an island like this before, nor someone like you."

"Well, find a different island." The crab huffled, bubbles dribbling down her chitinous chin and claws clicking together as if in irritable nervousness. "And a different crab. I've said again and again, I do not wish to have visitors. I will not entertain them, no, and especially if they just dig holes willy nilly!'

Wilson near lost his footing at the bottom of the hill, shoes digging deep in the soft shard sand, but a wave of his hands had his balance back and he stepped up to the crabby hermit, bone claws clasped and adopting an apologetic look on his face. The bag hanging from his shoulder swung heavy, dragged him down a bit to the left, and Maxwell already knew what was inside and already knew what the man was doing, what he had planned the day before, and this was his first day to this horrid little island but Wilson had discovered it weeks ago.

He's been visiting for awhile, but apparently has had no progress so far in becoming friendly with the local. Maxwell had been dagged here, as he has been told, to be a "backup" and "great help". 

So far, all he has done is accidentally step on a few of those singing shells, the high pitched ones that kept ringing in his ears like a far too familiar song he'd never be able to forget, and scrape a few random holes in the ground, shallow and yet with the powder sand crumbling easy to stick to his gloves. He was fairly certain this was in no way getting on the crabs good side.

"We're just trying to help out is all, I swear."

Wilsons words didn't seem to please the old crab, as she huffed and bubbled up spittle and mucus, a shake of her twitchy head, but then the short man was turning his attention to Maxwell and digging through his bag, crouching down and starting to tug out what he had brought along from the mainland.

The bushes were small, young, dirt still caked to the roots and new growth sprouted near the bases, one catching on the bag and giving him some trouble as he tugged it out, but eventually Wilson held out one of the plants as the hermit gave the both of them a very suspicious, narrow eyed look.

"I filled your racks, Miss, and wanted to ask your opinion on whether you'd like the flowers by the bee boxes to be spaced evenly or clustered. Maxwell here will finish up with the berry bushes."

The look that dawned on the crabs face had twisted to confusion now, mouthparts wiggling and dribbling streaks of salt water as she clicked her pincers together, watching as Maxwell took the bush in his hands and bit back the sigh of irritation that had been building in his chest. The roots trailed low, dirtying his gloves even more so, and this whole venture did seem like an utter waste of his time but Wilson had asked him so politely to tag along and now that he was committed he had to at least see it through.

Anyone else and he would have walked away, sailed back to the mainland and ditched the sucker to this meaningless work. It was obvious that the old crab creature wanted nothing to do with them, so if she wanted to die alone out on this deserted island Maxwell had no qualms letting her do as she wished. Unfortunately near everyone else he camped with always had something to say when it came to making those sorts of decisions; what was it with these people and denying resignation? Giving up was an option, not something to fight against.

Even Wilson spoke up against that sort of talk, which certainly gave Maxwell a bit of discomfort. One would think a scientist would consider all choices, but he supposed it had to do with nature, not logic. No one made sense in these parts.

"And why in the world did you do that!?" The hermits voice pitched, squealed in crabby irritation and just shy of genuine curiosity, waving her claws and frothing up suds and bubbles as she warbled in Wilson's face. "I can catch my own food, thank you very much! Went a bit off, didn't it, a few days old and you didn't want it anymore? Give the old hermit your rotten leftovers, is that it?"

Before Wilson could form an answer, not even slightly taken aback, completely used to such a reaction, the crab twittered and calmed near immediately, tapping her pincer to her chitinous chin, salty mucus dribbling to the powdery sand. 

"And clustered up a bit, will you? The bees can be so picky come spring, but they do so like batches of banquets and hiding among the blooms, would be best to keep them happy and not so stingy all the time." She shook her head, eyes closed and mouthparts pulling, tugging into something like a frown as she tsked, arms folded and one pincer waving in a dismissive gesture. "You should see them in the spring, dearie, they get so grumpy and bully the singing shells all the time! I always have to intervene, make sure no one gets stung between the eyes or drowned, though they all do take their tries with me, oh ho ho! A bit of excitement in my old age does wonders, I do say so!" 

Her mood flipped, the old crab burbled up a few salty soap bubbles, eyeing Wilson with only a side eyed look to Maxwell before suddenly holding out her arm, face tilted up and straightening her hobbled shelled back a bit.

"Help me up the hill, would you, and I'll show you where to place those flowers. Wouldn't want you to make a mess, no, and I know what I want, yes, I know best."

Maxwells frown couldn't have gotten any worse, though as the other man gave him a sheepish look and took up the old crabs offer, leading her politely up the sandy hill like the gentleman he has always called himself, he supposed this was the reason he had been brought here in the first place.

Manual labor that he had no liking for whatsoever, and then the added upon commands of a grumpy old crab. As if he wanted to be ordered and directed by some nutty old thing, alone out here in the glittering waters of the sunken moon! 

He was doing this because Wilson had asked it of him, Maxwell reminded himself, and with another near mentally pained sigh he creaked back down to the sand, kneeling as he started to try and plant the berry bush in the powders and sea shell crumbles of this horrid little island. Up atop the sandy hill he could hear the quiet conversation between the other two, mostly of the old crabs twittering words and only the few interjections from Wilson, but it still soured in Maxwells chest and made his hands stiffen up, baring the sand that kept getting caught up under his gloves.

Burying the bush down, jaw grit tight as he forced himself to keep his gaze down, focus on the mundane labor of planting and nothing else, including that old scaping bitterness that kept hitting the back of his throat and scratch irritably to the deep of his mind, Maxwell heaved a sigh from his nose and glared at the berry bush when it finally sat there, snug and as comfortable as it would get in sandy moon soil.

He flinched from a loud incomprehensible excimation beyond the hill, wetly twittered and edged with the croaking chitter of age, the answering soft talk from Wilson, and with that Maxwell dipped his head and resisted the urge to rub the bridge of his nose, headache already forming behind his eyes.

For Wilson, he reminded himself, though it was fairly obvious the other man didn't really need his help here.

Whatever, he was here now and he couldn't just _leave_.

Or, he could, and then suffer the consequences of ditching the other man back at camp. Which wasn't at all what he found appealing, so it was here he'd stay and here he'd listen to the two talk while he went about doing all the digging and meaningless work.

It was a waste of his time, but he'd not leave. Pulling himself into a slow stand, glaring at the small berry bush, Maxwell hung his head and turned to where he knew the boat was anchored, where the rest of the bushes were stored in the nailed down, salt soaked chests. Best get this over with as quickly as possible, since Wilson was entertaining the crab and not helping him.

He supposed the old hermit who lived out here, near nothing to her name and no connections elsewhere whatsoever, warranted having some level of compassion from the other man. Too soft a heart, Maxwell thought, or at least knew all too well, but still.

He'd much rather Wilson be talking to _him_.

Shoving that biting bitterness out of the way, Maxwell resigned himself to a long grueling day of digging and burying berry bushes about the island, making it homier, comforting. Later he knew he'd be dragging boards of wood to the squalor of the hermits decrepit house, leaving that up to the more innovated hands of the other man, and then camping out alone atop the boat as Wilson kept conversation up with the old crab, letting her ramble the night away as was usual.

He could say Wilson owed him one, but Maxwell knew better than that, knew it was the other way around as always. Oh well.

He best get to it, and another sigh, another heavy cloud of negative in his chest, and with that Maxwell shuffled himself back to the boat and it's waiting bushes, boards, and lonely waiting night atop the sea.


	2. Chapter 2

The lantern light buzzed low, fireflies crawling atop the wrinkling dull remains of plant bulbs, and Maxwell rested his head against his hand, elbow at his knee and uncomfortable wooden bench underneath him, the slow rock back and forth of the boat atop the waves.

Out across the waters he could see the low glowing aura of the farther away lunar island, the aurora that barely lit up the waves and the brief flashes of bright geysers. Behind him was the shallow light of a small campfire, the soft glow of the hermits old home, small island dark compared to the moons shattered fragments that were scattered about as islands. Besides for the lanterns shallow buzz and the waves lapping to sea shell strewn sand, cold glittering cliffaces, the only other sound was the quiet mumble of conversation behind him.

It was not said in so many words but Maxwell already knew he had not been invited to join the little party over there. The grumpiness of an isolated crab knew no limits, and it was fairly obvious by now that she preferred to ignore him in favor of complaining and berating the other man near constantly instead.

Not something he envied of course; for whatever reason Wilson did not seem bothered by the old creatures irritability, easily shrugging off her more barbed words and instead directing her attention to other matters, such as where she wished the flowers to be planted or what meats she preferred to be drying or which fish she'd like to have for dinner. The other man seemed to be trying to get on her good side, or at least suck up to her every whim, and Maxwell unfortunately had to just sit here on the sidelines and lend a hand whenever Wilson would glance over to him and softly request a bit of help.

He could leave. He could just pull up the anchor and sail off, because obviously Wilson was putting his entire focus on this old mad crabs life and Maxwell could be doing so much more with his time than plant bushes and wrangle with snippy lobsters and frustratingly agile fish. He could be tending to the nightmare flowers back on the mainland, could be gathering more swathes of oily fuel or twisting the ruins gems into promising creations or digging deeper into the Codex, prodding it more and more on the silence it kept whenever he asked of the lunar islands and the blinking eye moon.

He'd be reading through it now if he hadn't left it back on the mainland, but he'd rather keep it safe from the churning waters below. He still remembered a time of sailing alone in warmer seas and far more humid climates, and the pestering gulls that stole whatever they could get a hold of, mocking him with their cries and pecks and ill timed droppings.

And the fact that one had even dared to snatch up the Codex from his very hands, flying off above the sea and waiting just until the very moment that he had paddled out after it just to drop the old tome straight to the icy depths. 

Seagulls were horrid creatures, and a part of him was still grateful that it was puffins out here, not those nasty birds.

Still, he could be safely back at the main camp and under the watch of the other survivors instead of out here, doing favors for some old forgotten being who hasn't even uttered a single thanks for the past few days. 

Ignoring the fact that Maxwell himself near never offered his gratitude in much the same way, it was entirely too frustrating to be sitting here and withstanding this behavior.

And yet, he still didn't leave.

Because Wilson was adamant about staying out here, helping this mad old creature, and the man had asked Maxwell for help and Maxwell was going to help, no matter how irritable and deeply upset he felt about it all. No need to bother Wilson about it of course, since the man was being used as emotional pin cushion for that ungrateful hermit of a crab, and the past few days have been quite taxing.

Having to watch such ill meaning behavior aimed straight at Wilson so constantly, even as he did all these favors and answered to the crabs every whim with the most polite of answers, was drawing Maxwell a bit thin and irritable, and for reasons he did not quite know very well. It made him very...on edge, and yet Wilson dismissed his whispered aggravations and told him he knew what he was doing, give it time.

As if that old crab was anything but a bitter rude bitty. There was no reason at all for befriending her, or playing nice at all, and honestly Maxwell found himself more and more wanting to end this charade and usher Wilson back to the main island before he'll lose his patience and do something he knew no one would approve of.

Horrid creature was useless to them, and incredibly rude to Wilson while still talking his ear off at every turn, giving Maxwell the cold shoulder the more time that passed, but he couldn't do anything about it because of Wilson.

He crossed his arms as one particularly jumpy wave tugged at the boat, the anchors rope straining at its port and the creak of the wooden boards, the salty slide of water lapping the sides, and Maxwell frowned out at the sea, squinting at the blurry outlines of the lunar auroral skies. He wanted to be back at camp.

The moon and all its invading changes set him on edge, Wilson knew that by now, and yet he had still said yes, he'd help the other man, he'd sail out here to see what he's discovered, he'll offer his support and aid, and now Maxwell was stuck out here watching an old useless crab spit mean, unappreciative things to Higgsbury on a daily basis.

And Maxwell didn't like that, not at all.

Waiting out the night, glaring blurrily at the glowing seas and not at all pouting or being moody at this whole situation, he didn't even notice anything creeping up behind him until there was a hard knock against the ships wooden floorboards. The surprise startled him a moment, Maxwell flinching as he swung his eyes around and tensed up, but all that was behind him was the hunched form of the crab hermit, bulging white eyes and mucus bubble froth from her mandible mouthparts, pale lantern light shadowing her chitin and shell in a stark manner.

"I...I do apologize for startling you." Her voice was quiet, softened in the night as she stared at him unblinkingly, the slightest tilt of her head and low bubbly churr of her mandibles, the odd shake of her bristly shell tail. "But your little friend, he has fallen asleep."

Staring at her a moment, Maxwell slowly picked up the lantern as he got himself to a stand, boat rocking faintly under his feet as he stepped off onto the beaches sea shell littered sand, the hermit backing up a bit and twittering low as she looked up at him. She seemed oddly nervous, a far cry from the stern barbed squints she gave in the daylight, pincers clicking together as she looked back to the faint light of the campfire nearer to her house.

He didn't talk to her and she didn't start conversation, trotting in a lagging trail behind him as they walked, and the silence was tense and odd and awkward, Maxwell's own frustrations kept bitten back and away. There was no reason to give voice to them now, shear back all that useless, wasted progress Wilson has worked on throughout these past few days just to mutter a few insults or start an argument.

The fact that she seemed cowed by the dark, keeping close and yet giving him distance, claws scraping fitfully together and frothy mouth mandibles closed up and tucked tight for once, put him off the irritation a good bit. It was obvious that she was not feeling up to much right now, for whatever reason that Maxwell would not pry on.

He may not like her all that much, but that did not mean he was like the others, poking his nose so jarringly into others business, picking and peeling and rubbing salt to a wound. Knowing from experience, there was a delicate manner of doing things and Maxwell has found he's more likely to get answers through that path than any other.

Of course, that would be if he cared enough. And he did not care to pry in this crabs woes; that job was Wilson's, apparently. 

Nearing the firelight, silently raising up the lantern and dimming it down, letting the fireflies set to rest, Maxwell heaved a deep sigh as he recognized the hunched up, snoring form of Higgsbury.

"He fell asleep not too long ago, listening to me ramble about this and that." The old hermit chirped low, skirting around him and eyeing the dipping low campfire cautiously. The salty brine froth about her mandible mouthparts oozed down her chitin shell, clicking her pincers together as she peered at the other man, caught in a balancing act of his cheek to his palm, elbow on the knee and heavily leaning forward, not quite ready to fall yet but getting there. "I didn't want to wake him, not after all the work he's done today."

And not to mention the verbal barbed vomit he's had to withstand being around her, but Maxwell kept that to himself as he ambled over.

In sleep Wilson's face always lacked that hard scowl of wrinkles, lax and a hint of drool as he slept on, and that twisted bitter feeling that had sat like a stone in his gut these past few days let up a bit at the sight, just the slightest bit. For a moment Maxwell forgot himself, let his hand brush softly to his sleeping partners head, his greasy sand speckled hair, the faint frazzle of grey hairs under his gloves.

The low gurgling from behind him reminded him of where he was, who was still hovering near him, and with that Maxwell straightened back up. A quick glance to the fire told him he had a bit more time left, and from past experience he knew he wouldn't be able to carry the other man back to the boat.

That had been an embarrassing lesson to learn early on, one Wilson never quite let him forget.

"I'll need to fetch some things from the ship. He will sleep here tonight."

It was not framed as a question or even politely asked, but the hermit gurgled a bit and nodded, downcast bulging eyes still staring at the sleeping man and pincers still fiddling together, shrunken and quiet in the dark of night.

"Of course, of course. The least I could do, yes."

He waited a moment, eyeing her as she bubbled up a low sigh, a swishing wag of her lobster tail, but the lack of conversation between them was telling enough and Maxwell turned away, lantern humming back on as he walked through glittering sands back to the boat. The lack of foresight did make this another style of wasting time, but as if he had anything else to do with himself. 

Insomnia hit hard when he was far too close to the lunar isles, and with Wilson preoccupied with playing peacemaker and help Maxwell has been making do with the light dozing he could sneak in during the day.

As for Wilson himself, it was obvious enough to know he was nearing that exhausted point. Maxwell just had to be patient enough to wait this venture out, and he was sure the other man would eventually see the futility of all this and sail back to the mainland. Perhaps, just to speed it along, he should slip in a few questions of how Webber was doing, wonder if everything was right and sound back at that camp.

That always seemed to get on Wilson's nerves enough to spur him into action, and Maxwell filed away that thought for the near future.

The anchored boat shifted, rocked slow as he stepped aboard and rummaged a bit through one of the chests, pulling out the rolled fur sleeping bag and hooking it under his arm, along with a slung bag carrying a bit of charcoal and driftwood logs. Even covered and protected the rabbit fur sewn thing still had hints of salt on it, but thankfully no water damage so far. There was another in there, but he dismissed the thought of grabbing it and instead made his way back to the crabby hermits hovel and its diming firelight.

It took a moment, to recognize the absence of the crab from where he had left her, letting the lantern down a bit as he squinted out through the flickering night, but her wetly bubbled clicking had him turning in the right direction.

"...What in the world are you doing." 

Not quite a question, and more snarled under his breath, but the shell and mandible laden creature gave him a brief look from her spot on the driftwood log, settled up close to the sleeping man and holding his free arm delicately between her pincers. The bubbly froth from her oddly disconcerting mouthparts dripped in slow streams down her chitin face, and then she took a pincer and fiddled with one dark bone talon, giving him an unreadable look as she spoke.

"Looking at these odd little things, of course." She did not seem at all fazed by his downturned glare, the slow baring of his teeth and rumbling frustration that was churning fitfully in his chest at seeing her handle the other mans claws without even a bit of worry or care. Pinchers clacking to blackened talons, the hermit tilted her head and then gave him an odd wave, spreading Wilsons claws and giving a clear view of the grey scar across his palm. "Do you have them too? I've never seen such things on the likes of you two before, never. Very unheard of!"

For a moment there was a tense silence, not seeming to be picked up by her as she fiddled and bubbled in curiosity, but Maxwell grit his teeth and forcefully set the lantern down, light dimming as the pack of fire supplies settled into the sand as well.

"...I do believe that is none of your business, pal."

His aggravation must have finally gotten through her hard shelled head, bulging eyes blinking wide at him and mouthparts tucked in tight silence, before she carefully settled Wilson's hand back to his lap and scooted a more respectable distance away atop the log. Her pinchers clicked and clacked together, reminiscent of the other mans anxious fiddling that Maxwell has grown so used to hearing, and now it only made him more tense and bothered.

He didn't _like_ being out here. Wilson should know how uncomfortable the lunar islands made him, shouldn't have dragged him out here just to mess with a useless old batty crab, but he was here and it dragged terribly on his nerves but Maxwell was here _now_ and there was very little he could do about it.

For whatever reason, this irritating little creature made him very displeased with being out here all in all.

Coldly ignoring her, ignoring the scraping of her pinchers and curious, wide eyed gaze, Maxwell got to settling the rabbit fur bedding down on the sand, scowl on his face deepening as the sand bundled underneath it, glittering moon powder coating the back. There was nothing much he could do, nothing that would make this anymore comfortable for anyone besides swipe away any large shards of sea shell, which thankfully the hermit kept her mouth closed for once. Apparently his tone must have finally got her to realize just how much he plain disliked her.

Moving Wilson was another task, knowing how easy it was to shuffle the other man wrong and wake him into thinking he was under attack, but it was not a far distance and Wilson must have been more than just a hint tired out, limp and snoring softly as Maxwell cradled him close as best as he could. The bubbling crab offered no help, as if he would have taken it in the first place, and he had to fetch a lost shoe in the sand afterwards but getting the passed out man into the sleeping bag was a hint easier. By then his back was aching deep in the middle of his spine and he had to whistle for breath, but the ordeal was finally over.

Kneeling in the sand, getting his breath back and only doing a last faint fussing over, making sure no sand got into the sleeping mans face, a last brief lean over and sweeping look, brush of the back of his hand to his partners messy hair, and then Maxwell had to force himself back to a stand, knees creaking and popping complaints the entire way up. The burn of the crabs stare at his back was growing irritating, and again he had to keep his mouth shut, bite his tongue as to not say anything he'd not be able to take back.

"...He has done so much for me today." Her bubbled voice was low, a bit startling as Maxwell turned around and gave her a hard look, frown still set on his face. She didn't seem to notice, or perhaps care, mandible mouthparts opening and shutting a moment before frothy suds bubbled up and her words came around once more. "The both of you have, truly. All these little things, all day, all yesterday, all these past days. Why is that?"

Her question caught him off guard, brought up so bluntly, and Maxwell stared at the curled up hermit, her chitin and shell shadowed in odd ways to the flickering firelight. Her arms were crossed, pincer claws held loose and lobster tail drooping to the sand behind her, the mandibles of her face and head fallen a bit in an oddly sorrowful look on her crab face, and Maxwell was at a loss of words.

"...I do not know." Answering truthfully for once, a glance to his sleeping partner for a moment that made something in his chest do an odd little flip at the seemingly peaceful sight, and Maxwell heaved a sigh before he wandered his way to the driftwood log and sat heavily down, a fair distance between him and her.

"It must have been a long way, to get here from that large island. He's told me of others, friends of his, who stayed behind but will visit one day."

Maxwell chewed on that information a moment, knowing Wilson hasn't actually told any of the others of this hermit, only briefly mentioned to him and then expanded upon while still sailing all the way out here.

"He first came here a few weeks ago, bugging into my business and home and order and asking all sorts of questions, so nosy. Is he always like that?" Before he could figure an answer the crab went on, warbled low as bubbly salt mucus dribbled down her chin, clicking her pincers idly as she spoke. "And then he brought you, and now I have happy bee boxes and berry bushes and my island is the cleanest it's been in many years."

She twittered suddenly, a twitch and cough as a thought seemed to come to her, lobster tail swishing in the sand as she squinted her bulging eyes at him.

"Why _did_ you even come, hm? I am not stupid, I may have been alone for many years but even I can tell when someone is not fond of me."

The stark admission was a bit of a surprise and Maxwell straightened up a bit, the scowl on his face pulling to an uncomfortable frown instead. And here he had thought he was doing a mighty fine job being amicable. 

For a moment he held her gaze, the narrow squint of her pale bulging eyes, before Maxwell grit his jaw and turned away, staring instead to the sleeping man as he spoke, own hands clasped together in his lap and feeling far more uncomfortable now that there was no middle man available to keep the crabs attention off him.

"...He asked me to come." Maxwell tipped his head to his partner's form, frown still on his face and the discomfort now filling in a bit heavier as he remembered how harsh his previous thoughts had been for the old crab.

He didn't have anything else to say on the matter, didn't quite find himself wanting this conversation or even feel the need to voice his irritations now that she was right there, listening to him, asking the questions. It felt all too awkward now, and Maxwell stubbornly ignored her stare, vaguely wishing that dawn would break soon. If she didn't retreat into her under construction home then the night was to be a long, awkward one that he wanted no part in.

There was a sound, something like the mix of a snort and a garbled wet noise of bubbles blown into water, and he turned to see the old crab shake her head, mouthparts wiggling and soaping up in the corners, dripping salt water mucus to the sand.

"You do not seem to be one who'd answer to any willy nilly request." She made the snorting sound again, thinking as she tapped her chin with her pincer, before heaving up with the crackling slide sound of her chitin and shell rubbing against each other, a brief shake of her lobster tail that flicked a bit of sand about as she stepped away from the log. "You do not seem to be one who would help some grouchy old crab who offers no thanks in return."

His jaw ached with how hard he was gritting it, narrowing his eyes at her as she briefly ran her claws to her head, adjusted and shook out her chitin shell and stretched oddly, eyes closed and pinched, disappointed look on her crab face, and Maxwell hissed out a low breath, wrestled the snarl out of his voice as he turned his gaze away, back to Wilson and his sleep.

Something quiet like whispered in the back of his mind, _he wanted you to come with him_ , and Maxwell let out the tense breath with a sigh, the bitter pressure in him easing up for only a moment.

"I would do anything if he asked it of me."

That stopped her in her tracks, though Maxwell did not look, face going a hint soft as he watched his partner breath even, calm and relaxed in sleep. 

For what it was worth, even if he hated being out here so close to celestial, eye pricking presence, working manual labor for a being who showed no appreciation for his partners hard work, Maxwell still found that he favored being around Higgsbury more than being left alone to his own devices.

Not as if he'd ever admit that to the man, but he supposed by now Wilson has figured that out pretty well. 

"..." 

There was no answer from the old hermit, enough silence passing with only a hinted burble of an inhale, and when Maxwell turned his head to blink at her he found her staring at him, blank bulging eyes wide and mandible mouthparts twitching, as if taken aback from some sudden realization. Her pincers clicked, barely a shift of movement as her gaze finally slide over to the other man, before she blinked and shuddered in a bubbly breath, looking back to him.

For a moment, she seemed almost as if to want say something, the twitch of her lobster tail and soaping up corners of her mandible mouth, the firelight almost giving her eyes a seemingly wet look that kept Maxwell silent, before with a shake of her chitin shell armored form the old crab seemed to get a hold of herself.

"Then…then don't ever let him lose himself."

Her voice was drawn low, near whispered, wide eyes glazed and obviously thinking of something far, far different from their conversation, an oddness to it that had Maxwell crook an eyebrow in confusion, and with that the old crab shook herself one more time, mandible mouth twisted down and gaze dragging to the sand, a brief flick of her pincers to her face and wet bubbled sound as she finally shuffled to her hovel without another word.

Maxwell sat there in stunned silence, a bit lost and confused himself from the way the conversation had gone, but the sudden sparking crackle from the dimming fire caught his attention and up he had to go, digging through the set aside pack and setting a few logs into the fires greedy maws. 

Settling back to the log, glancing over Wilson to once again ensure all was well, Maxwell curled his arms in his lap and blankly looked out to the darkness that surrounded them, blanketing the old home behind him in deep night.

It was odd, but out here it was near impossible to feel as if he was being watched. Something to do with the oceans swells, its waves against the coastline, or at least that was what Higgsbury had drawn a conclusion to. 

Helped ease the anxiety of the shadows watchful gaze, even if he knew it was just a trick of the mind. Out in the darkness he knew They were watching, and even further out there, to the glowing crystalline glow of the stronger lunar islands, the eyes of something far colder was watching just as carefully, perhaps even more so.

The hermit was certainly mad, to be living out here alone and atop a plugged shard of the moon. Whatever reasons she had for it did not intrigue his curiosity as much as it did for Wilson, that was for sure.

Still, her soft words hung over his head, in his mind, and Maxwell folded his arms a bit closer and stared out into the ever watchful night, keeping guard over his sleeping partner and the crabby hermits old island home.

Perhaps tomorrow he'd be able to convince Wilson that now was a good time to sail back to camp, back to ever frustratingly filled home. It felt to be as good a time as any, and Maxwell dismissed thoughts of the crab hermit and her words, dismissed those worries.

If they didn't step foot to another one of these isles, then there would be no need for worry, for warnings. 

Keep to the mainland, Maxwell thought to himself silently, and all would be well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I think I got that out of my system now...


End file.
